


Mother Dearest

by duchessofdublin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, M/M, Minor Character Death, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessofdublin/pseuds/duchessofdublin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' mother had a greater impact on his life than he ever thought possible. Werewolves aren't the only creatures  shadows of the night. Argents aren't the only hunters either. Who were they kidding? They're just children. They're not ready for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Dearest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatfire/gifts).



> Began this months ago as a little project with Becky and my god, it's taking forever. But yeah, I'm getting done so there's that.

Stiles believed in the many morels his mother taught him. Many which stopped his pondering thoughts from bordering on suicidal, to stop his feelings from drifting to stalking, to his talk from rambling.

In all cases, she didn’t do a good job.

 His mom was different. She wasn’t like any woman anybody knew. She spoke her mind and left people reeling in her path as she uttered out facts the others couldn’t even comprend to understand, she used to wear shorts with baggy shirts and had messy hair. She has the biggest head of curls. That is where Stiles inherited his.

She used to put butterflies pins within her hair when she made them with Stiles, claiming them to be the messengers’ of the sun. She loved the sun. She hated the cold; she rarely played in the snow. She would rather sit indoors beside the fire burning upon the Yule logs and whispering old folktales than be in the freezing depts of the lizards hiss. She used to whisper the tongue of her language in his ear at night. He would try to understand but failed as she whispered about the mocking birds and the men who lived in caves searching for their lost families. She loved to climb trees.

One time, Stiles remembers, he tried to impress her by climbing a large oak in the back garden of the elderly woman across from them. He snuck into the garden and climbed to a higher branch with his eight year old legs. He scraped his knees and he started to cry when he reached too high. The woman found him and started shouting for him to get down. But he couldn’t, he started to cry harder. The woman disappeared then reappeared with his mother, leaving him to try not fall out of the tree while crying his poor heart out.

Stiles’ mother beamed up at him and said “My Prince, however did you climb the highest mountain?” Stiles sniffled and scrunch his brow.

“You are the bravest man I know, Ser Stiles.” She said. Stiles wiped his sleeve across his nose, leaving a snail trail of snot and smiling wetly down at her.

“Am I brave, Mommy?”

“The bravest.” She assured him. “Will you climb down so I can give my little prince a hug of gratitude?”

“I can’t.” Stiles wobbled. She just smiled again, her golden liquid eyes brightening and held out her arms.

“Then jump. Feel like a bird and sing like a canary, my sweet prince.”

Stiles jumped. She caught him, laughing with delight. Stiles ignored the elder woman squawking about the rough housing as his mother said “Race you home and we’ll see if you are the fastest knight in this entire kingdom.”

Stiles won. She winked and taught him how to jump up three steps at a time.

He pushed her into a puddle, its mud landing on her nose. His dad laughing from the sitting room, telling her she has mud in her hair. “So do you.” she said. His dad looked confused as he peered through the window checking his appearance. Stiles saw his mother fling a clump of muck at him, sliding down the Sheriffs nose leaving him gaping and Stiles giggling.

They had an incredible mud fight, leaving them breathless and exhausted. She gave him a bath, he didn’t even complain as she told him stories of heartless thief’s and fighting pirates. He fell asleep listening to her hum an old lullaby. He heard his mother whisper “S'agapo μου λίγοπρίγκιπας”

She died a month later.

Stiles was broken. He sang no more. Defiantly not like a canary.

* * *

 

There is one memory Stiles remembers the most is when he was at the bright age of four. He was playing in the sand on a hollow, warm day. The sun was unforgiving and he was forced to wear a blue suncap over his sweaty curled hair. She stood by the wooden bench that was at the edge of the park. She was holding an old heavy camera her grandfather passed down to her. He could hear her laughter of delight over the flock of swans perched by the pond. Stiles didn’t fear she would drift off leaving him alone in the park. His mother would never leave him.

He remembers hearing screams and shouts from the older boys who rough housed by the swings. One boy looked to be at the age of ten, he wore baggy shorts with shiny new flip flops. He knew they were new by his loud bragging in the playground earlier in the week. Stiles didn’t know him well. He didn’t know him at all beside the fact he catches him staring a lot. At him. Stiles’ father always told him to stay away from older men and boys who had a wicked smile on their faces but the boy never smiled at him, just stared before shrugging when he noticed Stiles was staring openly back. Stiles’ mother always said he was an open shade to the moon, saying he would never be able to lie.

Stiles’ knew he would never be able lie to his mother.

The boy was with what looked like to be his older brothers. There were six of them all together. The older boy was standing on the swing while the younger was hanging upside down beside him on the bar. Stiles envied him. He tried to hang upside down once but he fell and sprained his wrist, his fathers forbid it after that. The older boy yelled when an even older boy grabbed his ankle and shouted ‘Gerroff, Derek! My turn!’ Stiles didn’t realize he was staring till the older boy glanced at him and looked sheepish as he hoped off the swing and sat on the dusted ground near it, his hands twisting in his loose top.

Stiles returned to his sand pit as it started to crumble underneath the heat and his lowered shovel upon it. He was trying to build a fort around it when he heard a rustle beside him. He glanced to see it was the older boy looking quite determined and red. Red like his fire truck, his father got for him for Christmas. Bright and shiny but now probably shoved in the back of his closet.

“Do you wanna pway?” Stiles asked him. The older boy nodded jerkily. He glanced back his brothers. Stiles did too. They were nudging each other and were making their lips into puckered wrinkles. Stiles didn’t understand.

“Do you like the colour wed or blue? I like wed, it’s my favourite of the ‘ainbow. My mommy says everybody is the drops of the ‘ainbow so we’re all diffewent. I’m diffewent cause I like wed but Scott likes gween.” Stiles said, grinning.

The older boy’s lips twitched as he twisted with his shirt.

“Are you going to stand there all day or gonna pway ‘ith me?”

“I’ll play.” The other boy said, almost softly before sitting gingerly besides Stiles. He didn’t know what the boys’ problem was. He didn’t have puke on him like the first time he met Scott. He just wanted help with his fort. “You any good at making ‘andcastles?” Stiles took his castles very seriously.

The older just nodded and picked up the bucket and spade and got to work. Stiles hummed softly to himself, trying to remember the rhythm he learned today in Big School. The older boy was quiet despite Stiles’ consent nudging of accidental elbows and whacks of the spade.

“What’s youer name?” Stiles asked.

The boy glanced at him, his furry eyebrows raised at Stiles. He waited.

Stiles grinned at him. “I’m Dionysius.”

“I thought your name was Stiles?” The older boy asked, flushing.

“That’s only ‘cause Scotty is silly and can’t say it so he calls me Stiles after my dad as people in his job call him Stilinski.” Stiles explained, still completely focused on his sandcastle.

“Oh. That’s easier.”

“Yeah but mommy calls me Diony sometimes. What does your mommy call you?”

 The boy shrugged, fiddling with his spade.

“Da always says I ask too many questions. Am I asking too many questions?” Stiles giggled at his own joke.

The boy smiled down at the sand. He glanced at Stiles out of the corner his eye. Stiles has never seen a boy with such dark hair as him almost like the story of Snow White his mother sometimes told him at bedtime.

“Whe’e do you live?”

“Beacon Hills.”

“I know silly. I mean where in Beacon Hills?”

“Westminster Street beside the riverland.” The boy said, tracing a spiral into the sand, marking the shape of a laying sun.

“I know there, my Da bwings me the’e when I’ve been good and we go fishing.” Stiles grinned; pleased with himself that he knows the place the boy speaks of.

The boy reached across to brush sand off Stiles nose and grinned himself. Stiles grinned wider showing his gums. The boy copied him and soon they were both trying to outdo each other by who can smile the widest. Stiles were giggling as the older boy pinch his own cheeks and stretch them while bulging out his eyes. 

“Baby, what are you doing?” Stiles’ mother stopped, her camera was dangling around her neck as she stared at the older boy. Suddenly Stiles felt scared. He had never seen his mother look that pained or angry. He could count the amount of times she’s ever been angry on one hand. She got quiet and whispered her words as a muscle near her neck would start to bulge.

She now just stood there, holding out a hand to Stiles. “Come along, baby. I’m feeling warm, perhaps we should head home to Daddy and we could have a picnic in the back garden?”

Stiles scrambled up, dusted off the sand on his knees and glanced at the other boy. The darker haired boy still sat on the ground staring at Stiles’ mother with an open mouth looking defeated. Stiles felt completely confused.

“But why mommy? We were just going to pway knight and monsters.” Stiles’ top lip wobbled. He didn’t want to let go of his new friend just yet.

“Darling, don’t you want to go have some fresh made lemonade I made this morning?” She smiled down at him, hand still stretched out, her copper skin glowing. Stiles glanced at his new friend and pouted. She drove a hard bargain.

“No, mommy.” He muttered.

“Come on now, Daddy probably misses us terribly. Anyway Derek probably” the older boy’s snapped to look at her from where his head was drooped forward, chin pointed towards his chest. “might want to join his brothers again. We don’t want to stop his fun, now do we?”

Stiles bit his lip but shook his head anyway. He grasped his mother hand and smiled wetly up at her. She brushed a curl under his suncap and set off towards the entrance of the park.

Stiles glanced back at the boy still in the sandpit who watched them as they walked away. He raised his hand in a salute and Stiles waved naturally back. That seemed to cheer him up as he looked dreadfully miserable before that. Stiles didn’t like anybody being sad.

It was only half way home after they snuck through the secret passages through the streets and jumped a few gates, did Stiles suddenly remember.

He stopped in the middle of a step and cocked his head at his mother. She stopped humming and connecting a patch of daisies she had picked up in the park.

“How did you know his name, Mommy?”

“Whose, honey?”

“The big boy with the dark hair and the scar on his lip.”

Stiles saw his mothers eyes grow full of fondness and worry.

“I know his mother, baby, Talia Hale.”

“Is she nice?”

Stiles’ mother paused “She’s lovely. Come on now before it gets dark. I’m starving.”

Stiles ran ahead babbling all about the things he would make Da make for dinner and if he could eat the chocolate before his vegetables. He missed his mother looking up at the sky and whispering a prayer of love and safety before grasping the daisies and placing them in her hair as she too ran off into the warm, pavement covered distance.

* * *

 

Stiles remembers he tried to be as sneaky as a eight year old can be and tried to read his newest comic books under the duvet with a flashlight. It was barely pass nine o’clock at night yet it felt like he was up at the dawn of hours as his eyes tried to flutter into sleep he was depriving himself of but if he blinked very hard then refocused his attention on the latest issue of _Batman_ itwasn’t quite so bad _._ It was a dark, warm night so his window was slightly open as he tended to cry if he got too warm so his mom thought it would be best to just leave it open. The light breeze was bellowing the drapes, leaving a parting for the moon to shine through.

He was getting to the interesting part when he heard a bang downstairs. He paused in his reading but when after several seconds of nothing, he returned back to it.

When another bang sounded from downstairs with a muffled shout, Stiles laid down his comic book carefully so not to bend any of the pages and grasped his flashlight and crept out onto the landing towards his stairs. The noises were getting slightly louder now that he was out from under the duvet and not behind a closed door. He heard his mother’s voice but barely. He tried getting closer. He jumped over where he knew the creaks of the floorboard were. There were two voices shouting now. It was his mother and father.

“..you know perfectly well, John….no don’t you think for one second…he’s nothing but a boy. No…That is completely out of contents.” His mother’s voice rang, still muffled through the kitchen door his parents clearly occupied. Stiles’ tried getting even closer.

“What is it now, Arianthe? You’re not telling me….oh come on.”

Stiles couldn’t even make out his mothers’ reply.

“He’s nothing but a boy is right…I want…what you…please drop this.”

“Nonsense? You’re claiming this as…John you don’t even…”

“How dare...I love him too…Right okay?”

“He’s our priority right now, not the…”

“Don’t you think I know that, Arianthe?” Stiles’ father shouted. Stiles’ flinched back into the wall, flashlight clutched in his small, sweaty palms.

“John calm…he’s just upstairs…I want for…”

Silence fell in heavy heaps upon the kitchen. Stiles’ could feel the stares, his lip wobbled. _He_ was making his parents fight. He knew it.

“Babe, you’re not telling me…not letting me in…don’t feel close anyway?”

“I trust you, honey. I really do but I can’t tell you anymore.” Stiles’ mother reasoned. Stiles’ could make out her words clearly if he pressed his ear hard enough against the door.

“Surely you can try to? Because we’re nothing without you and we’re a team remember? The day we both I said ‘I do’ I promised to stay with you forever more, didn’t I?”

“Yes as you started to get all sweaty.” Stiles’ could hear the tears in his mothers’ voice.

“I was nervous because I was marrying the most-“

“Beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on and knew instantly you had to have me, yes I remember.”

“And I will continue to say it forever more until you believe. I will use my last dying breath to tell you how much you and Dionysius mean to me. You’re my life.”

“You’re such a sap, John.” She said the fondness evident in her voice.

“Only for you, my dear. Only for you. I understand you won’t tell but can you try to keep safe?”

“I don’t need you protecting me.”

“No you don’t. You certainly don’t but I like to think you need me somehow.”

“Oh, I do need you. In so many ways. I need you right now but I can’t grasp you just yet” Stiles’ mother voice was soft.

“Why can’t you? You’re having me in bits Ari. I need to know you’ll be safe, okay? Whatever you’re involved in, whatever you’re trying to hide.”

She starts to protest.

“No, no Ari. You’ll tell me when you can and I’ll listen with both ears and my eyes not fixed on a football match. But you’ll be safe, promise me?”

“John, I don’t-“

“Promise me. For me and Dionysius sake.”

“I promise.” She sounded lost, crowded. Stiles’ wanted to hug her tight and feel her fingertips stroking his scalp as he worried. Why did she need to be safe? Stiles’ would protect her, she even said herself he was bravest prince she’d ever known.

“For Dionysius?”

“For Dionysius and you.”

Stiles’ pushed himself away from the wall on shaking legs, mind bracingly filtering the information he just heard and his fingers trembling. The flashlight in his hand was stuttering as it rolled between his two hands. He seemed to forget where he was standing and stood loudly on a creak on the top of the stairs. It sounded as loud as a lion’s roar so Stiles paused, his heart racing and mind charging. The voices downstairs paused but then continued after a moment. Stiles’ ran to his room, dodging all the creaks and leaped into bed, his comic book fluttering to the floor forgotten and pages bending. He burrowed his head under the duvet and waited for his heart to calm and his fingers to stop feeling so numb. He didn’t know why he was so panicked but his brain was screaming at him for something. For what, he truly didn’t know. Stiles were barely the age of eight when he first had a panic attack.

He had his first panic attack over his parents fighting but he didn’t know the feeling for what it was. He only knew he couldn’t breathe and he didn’t want to her his mother’s voice broken like a dying bird ever again.

* * *

 

Stiles remembers seeing his mother the one last time. The last time he would see her smile and laugh at one of his drawings he brought home from school. She decided to come home from the hospital and sit at home. When Stiles came rushing back to the house all a bundle of excitement and a burning flame of rebellion as he finally got to see his mom without the horrible tubes stuck into her veins that was promised to help but Stiles knew for a fact they were draining a fluid out of her and she always cried when he visited her. He hated seeing her cry. He wished to never see the tears staining her leached beige cheeks with the tracks of misery and feeling him leaving hallow and unable to reach her, his fingers grasping the air that burned his lungs and filled his head with a hissing drum. He hated seeing her cry. He didn’t see her cry when he arrived home.

The smell of cinnamon was strong, the smell of her perfume. The windows were open, a small breeze allowing in some comfort. She sat beside the large frame in the kitchen, looking out the back garden which was showing signs of her inability to take care of one of the things she held dear. She was humming an old folk lullaby. The words so olden and ancient she didn’t even know the meaning but she always smiled when singing it so it must of meant something funny. She was paler than usual. She was meant to be getting better but her body seemed to betraying her as it was getting smaller and weaker. She couldn’t give Stiles piggybacks anymore. She had in hair up in a thick bandana, the red scarf wrapping around almost like a snake trying to squeeze the last of her breath out of her. A few spare curls escaped, now limp and dried up.

When she spotted him, she grinned and held out her thin arms. Stiles accepted the offer and leaped at her. If he hugged her tight enough, maybe she wouldn’t go back to the horrible hospital that smelled like bleach and creaked like a haunted house.  She seemed careful when holding him, unable to pick him anymore. Stiles’ dad tried to brush it off as he was getting too big but he knew it was because his mom was sad and weak. She didn’t sing no more. Only hummed.

She barely spoke anymore. Sometimes telling him a story as he creptinto her stiff bed and tried laying with her without upsetting the life sucking tubes. She told him many stories, telling him to write them down when he got home, to remember them, to soon tell a soecial someone a story. He didn’t have anybody to tell but she would say ‘Soon, agàpi.’ She tried to tell him a story but sometimes she would get too tired and whisper a nursery rhyme to remember instead. He learned so many. He tried telling them to Scott but he was too busy wih his newest game his dad sent him from wherever he was.

She now turned her nose into his head of curls and he could feel her smile. She led him away from the kitchen into the neglected garden. There were birds chirping while his old swing cricked with the wind. They didn’t go far into it but just stopped at the porch, standing and allowing the breeze to mess with their curls. She held his hand tight within his, her fingertips brushing his palm calming his beating heart and allowing him to smile for the first time in many weeks. He hadn’t heard her laugh in a long time. He missed it, the sound running down his spine almost caressing it, soothing his pains and worries. She smiled down at him now and push him lightly into the garden with her other hand.

“What do you see?” She spoke softly, her voice straining against the pressure in her throat.

He glanced out at the garden, all he saw was over grown weeds, a tree now drooping with the heat of the last summer sun, the grass turning yellow and brown, the birds chirping with sorrow and a patch of flowers still trying to survive without any help from the household. He saw nothing of importance. He shrugged. She let go his hand, grasped his chin and turned it to the rose bush that sat in the corner of the garden. She repeated her question. Now, he tried to see what she saw but he couldn’t.

“I don’t know mommy. A rose bush?”

“Darling, what colour is the roses?”

“Red.” He answered simply.

“How come everything else is dying yet the rose bush survives?”

“Maybe it gets more water or food. Maybe little elves come along when we’re not looking and feed it?” He grinned.

“Maybe, honey but what if that rose bush was sad, everything else was dying would it die too?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Why would it die off too?”

“Because it’s gotten sad and it wants to die too with its friends.”

“Or should it try to survive and when next summer comes along grow even brighter and fuller than ever before?”

“Why would it try that if it’s sad? How could it even try to grow if it’s all alone?”

“Good boy, always question never leave anything unanswered. Say the rose had no more friends and it was all alone but it wanted to prove it could survive, should it?”

“No, it wouldn’t be able.”

“Why?” she questioned, now sitting on a bench beside the porch door.

“Because it can’t prove anything.”

“Why?”

“Because proving isn’t believing and when you believe it can come true.”

“How?”

“When you wish hard enough it can come true.”

“But what if you wish and wish but it never happens? What if the rose can’t wish no more?”

“It _must_.”

“But what if it can’t, sweetie? What next?”

“It tries to be happy and then grow.”

“Make other friends?”

“No, be happy with itself.”

“If you’re happy with yourself, you can be happy with anybody or anything?”

“Yeah and you can move on.”

“Why would you want to move on? Wouldn’t you want to stay in the same sad spot and want to cry?” She asked.

“Well of course mommy but only for a time causes then you get tired and want to sleep, I always do when I cry.”

“So you cry, pick yourself and move on?”

“Yeah. Am I right?” He grinned at her. She smiled wetly back at him and held out her arms, he climbed into her lap and burrowed his head into the crick of her neck and smelled her cinnamon perfume.

“Perfectly. Tens points to Hufflepuff.” She said into his hair. Stiles snuggled closer.

Later that evening when the sun was setting and the cold was seeping in, they still sat outside in the garden sometimes glancing at the rose bush and muttering other ways for the rose to be happy by the time spring came around, other times playing little games but mostly sitting in silence and taking warmth from each other’s comfort. At one point, she started crying but she didn’t wipe her tears of the back of her sleeve and whispered to Stiles “ _We need never be ashamed of our tears_ ” She cried softly but never let go of Stiles. He didn’t understand but he held her just as dearly.

When Stiles’ father found them, he smiled wistfully and told them to come inside, she stood shakily but Stiles’ father grasped her hand in hers and his smile becoming full of sorrow. She shook her head and they all entered into their home. Stiles’ was tired from all the unknown emotions that ran through his body in the last couple of hours and he just wanted to sleep, wrapped around his parents and dream of wolves that had been in his mind for the last couple of nights.

They ate their dinner gingerly none of them feeling really hungry. Arianthe had been eating less and less before but now she barely had a nibble instead staring at Stiles and kept running her fingers through his short curly fringe that kept falling into his eyes.

They then went upstairs and readied themselves for bed. They allowed Stiles’ to sleep in their bed for the first time in years so he snuggled in between them both, his cold toes pressed to his fathers’ shins and his fingers entwined with his mothers. She hummed a lullaby for them both till he fell asleep, his soft snores brushing against his father’s cheek. She kept on humming till she could no more and fell into a light sleep herself, scared to allow this moment with her baby and husband pass. Stiles’ fathers eyes never left hers and as he whispered ‘I love you’ across to her. Both of their eyes brimmed with tears but not allowing any to fall because many would be shred the next day.

The next day Arianthe died. Stiles’ never forgave himself for falling asleep, his father tried to hum the last lullaby the best he could but he always excused himself before he could finish. He would never finish the lullaby, her song would live on.

* * *

 

Stiles remembers he started screaming when he was in the hospital, when he was told his mother had passed away, that she was gone and he couldn’t do anything about it. He felt it bubble up inside his stomach, like acid that was destroying his insides, the scream ripping from his chest and exploding. He felt like he was caving from the inside out. He couldn’t breathe. All his breath went into his screaming; the nurse tried to calm him down, tried to grasp his hand and tried to hug him close but he _wouldn’t_ allow another woman to hug him like his mother when she was _gone_ and he couldn’t do anything about it. He tried to reach for his father but he couldn’t find him so he tried to run but he couldn’t make it past the waiting room.

All the patients and other children turned to look at him but he didn’t care. Tears ran down his cheeks, the salt stinging his cut lips as he screamed his lungs out. He couldn’t _breathe_ and he wanted his mom. He turned abruptly towards the door where the nurse came out from and ran towards it, dodging the nurse who tried to calm him down. He shoved her out of the way, his little legs pounding on the floor. He screamed out for his mother but nobody answered. Another nurse joined the other and now they both made to grasp his arms so he ducked and ran into a room, slammed the door behind him and leaned against the door, his heart pounding in his ears. He needed his mom. He felt like he was going to get sick, he gagged a few times but nothing came up. He slide down to rest on the floor, curled up in the smallest ball he could and started to sob. The sobs ripped from his chest and snot ran down his chin as he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t remember the lullaby but he could remember her smile and the smell of her perfume. The room seemed to spin so he clenched his eyes shut, and tried to still his numb, shaking hands. He shoved his hands between his knees, his fingernails biting into his palm. The cries that rang throughout the room were unheard, unnoticed.

Life had a horrible way of showing a poor boy that it’s unfair sometimes.

The first year was the worst. It never got better but easier to breathe. Stiles’ remembers trying to get his dad up in the morning but he would instead offer out his open arms and Stiles would crawl in and they would cling to each other. Neither straying to her side of the bed. Stiles missed school and his father never went to work. He quit his job from the law firm a month later as he couldn’t deal with the pressure anymore. Stiles’ father didn’t say her name for the first three months; he couldn’t utter the first syllables.

Stiles remembers staying awake at night listening to the thunder and the rain beating against his window. He pulled his curtains back from the windows so the flashes light up the room every few seconds while he sits there motionless. He remembers not feeling anything. No pain, no despair. He would be panicked at any time before if he felt like this but then he just sat in silence and didn’t think of anything but the rain that tried to break its way through the glass, the frame rattling Stiles heard his father shuffling in the other room unable to sleep for the constant feeling of loneliness. Stiles wished for a moment of peace for his father. He knew deserved the constant feeling of grief, anger, neglect that pressed down upon his chest until he felt his bones creaked with the force of his thundering heart. He knew it was his fault.

They found out when she gave birth to Stiles, she burst a small vein within her lung and it had been slowly filling the organ up until it would burst. They didn’t discover this until it was too late. She showed no signs of the illness until the last few months or so. He knew it was his fault. If she had never given birth to him she would still be in this world, filling it with laughter and allowing his father to breathe easy once again.

He hated the feeling of self loathing that ran threw his brain at moments when he allowed himself to sit still. He was having more and more panic attacks than an average child should, he lost a lot of blood one time as he drew himself into a state that he fell down a slope from the playground and knocked himself unconscious, he woke up to be in the nurses room with Scott crying beside him. Scott was gone a lot more recently; his dad came back from wherever he went to and then left again. Scott didn’t take it very well.

So in the end they’ve been spending less and less time with each other. Stiles missed him at times when he wasn’t busy missing his mom. He missed when Scott could cheer him up with a simple shove and a roar of a dinosaur before they descended into a fit of tumbles and giggles. He missed the video games that could play sitting side by side, squeezed into a small space so they both could peer at the Gameboy. Scott used to drive him mad when it wasn’t his turn to play as Scott would shove his head in front of the screen and shout out instructions for Stiles to take even though he couldn’t see the damn screen. He missed the moments of how he would bring in the jam sandwich and Scott brought in the peanut butter one and they would mush it all together till it made the sandwich that was perfect in their eight year old eyes.

He now sat slumped in his room fiddling with a loose thread at the end of his bed while the windows continued to rattle. He wished for a hug so badly in that moment. He thought he was a real sado as he gave himself a hug. He missed his mom’s arms around him, rubbing circles in his back as he heard her heartbeat steady as a humming bird. The cold had seeped in now but he didn’t care.

He just didn’t care.

* * *

 

Stiles remembers talking to Lydia Martin for the first time. It was almost two years since his mom died, the wounds were trying to heal but Stiles couldn’t bare the pain. He hadn’t spoke to Scott in months. He mostly sat with himself on the swings, staring down at his rugged trainers and tried to ignore everybody around him. He hadn’t gotten his hair cut since the funeral, it now sat at the perch of his bony shoulders, and he usually pushed it back into a low ponytail a few stubborn curls refusing to corporate that fell slightly into his face.

He was sitting at the swing kicking dirt around lazily with his trainers when he felt somebody sit beside him on the other side of the swing. He went to ignored them but the person cleared their throat delicately, he raised his eyes ready to ignore but stopped short when he saw the most beautiful girl in his school sitting beside him, looking at him expediently. She had her gorgeous strawberry blond hair in two complicated side ponytails and a clear shine of gloss on her lips; she was one of the first to ever start wearing make up in his school. She smiled slightly, it was unexpected. She looked almost sad though as she glanced at him then back out to the playground a few times.

“Well?” She said her voice cutting through the silence with delicate force. Stiles raised both eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders unable to speak because he was struck by her looking at him let alone talking to him and he had no idea what she was waiting for.

“Are you going to play or sit here like a loser?”

“Play?” he asked.

“Play as in ball.” She flipped her hair in the general direction of the football patch of grass where all the bulky boys wrestled with each other and just caused a lot of pain, none of the boys were even looking their way; too absorbed with their game then with a loser of a kid who spoke to no one and made panic attacks and the beautiful girl who was smart but acted dumb and couldn’t hold a conversation with anybody who wasn’t remotely pretty or even petty for that matter. He shook his head.

“Why not?” She asked.

“Because I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t want to or too afraid to?”

He looked at her startled. “I’m not scared. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m perfectly able to know what I’m saying. Maybe you’re not afraid off the game but you are of something. It’s something you don’t tell anybody.”

“Everybody is afraid of something.”

“I’m not.” She looked him dead in the eye and she smiled sweetly. Fake.

“You are but you’re now lying.”

“I don’t lie, Dionysius.”

“How do you know my name? Nobo-“

“It’s simple to read a public document containing all a person details, don’t you think? Your name is one of them, your date of birth is another, illness is another, hobbies, allergies, relatives - the list is endless. No secret stays a secret for long. Everybody will know eventually. Even the neighbour you used to live besides will know the type of shampoo you use, the brand of cereal and even your lovely fathers aftershave will be known because that’s what people do. They become nosy and want to know everything there is to know about you.”

“What do you wanna know then about me?”

“Why are you not playing? I’m more curious than really interested.” she stared ahead, not really seeing anything. He knew she was watching his every move.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You must have a reason, everybody does.”

“Yeah well maybe I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why? I couldn’t possibly tell anybody, I wouldn’t want anybody to know I was talking to you in the first place.” She now looked at him. Stiles’ wrinkled his eyebrows and glanced around.

“People can see us now.”

“People only see what they want and they don’t want to see me with a child who has no reason not to be playing football.”

“I do have a reason and you’re the same age as me so don’t call me a child!” Stiles shouted, turned towards her as she seemed to stare into his soul. Completely meeting his eyes, not once flinching as most children did once they realized he was the kid of a dead woman and a man who had a mental breakdown in the grocery shop staring at the cereal only a week after her death.

“Then tell me.” She said, not commanding but not allowing for any excuses either.

Stiles glanced down at his trainers that stirred dirt into the playground floor as he tried to form an answer. Nobody wanted the real answer from him. They expected him to say he missed her but he would move on as it’s been two years and in people mind’s that’s _more_ than enough time for a boy to move on. Stiles hated them when they looked at him in pity yet also hated them when he expected to be over it already. They didn’t understand who she was and what she did to their family, how she held them in one place and didn’t allow for them to float off the ground leaving their feet dangling in the air as they fought for breath, that she knew when they needed help and when they needed a moment of silence. She was their everything and now she was gone, they didn’t understand what to do with themselves. Stiles had no idea how to cope; he was barely keeping his head above the water.

“I can’t be around them.” He finally answered, “I cannot be around them when after a nice game of football they can skip off home to a warm meal and a kiss from their mom and not even notice her looking at them while she smiled and knows how much she loves them because they will never notice. They’ll be ignorant and just careless…and not care at all. Not even the _smallest bit_ as they know she’ll be there in the morning with a gentle shake and a ‘Good Morning.’ But I’ll _never_ have that again. Never!” He choked on a breath and dug the heel of his palm into his eyes, trying to stop the tears at threaten to fall.

He heard the swing creak as she shifted and she breathed out a huff of air. “I don’t get along with my parents very well.”

He waited.

“I don’t get along with them for the reason that I don’t want to because I want to be free but I can’t be if they’re still telling and showing me how to act, I cannot stand my mother as she’s the perfect ‘housewife’ and she just doesn’t _understand_. I don’t hate them because I don’t know them. I doubt I ever will. Be glad you had your mom even for a moment and still have your dad.” She said, her voice not wavering in the slightest.

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He lifted his head from his palms and looked at her. She had her cocked to side as she seized him up, her eyes darting from one part of his face to another. She was observing him, for a reason he didn’t know why. He went to speak but she rose and she dusted off the invisible dirt that landed on her. She walked away without saying a word before glancing over her shoulder and said “You look a lot like your mom with your hair.” She smiled slightly, her lip twitching but it was enough. She flipped her hair and wandered off probably to find her ‘friends’.

Stiles ran his shaking hands through his fringe that curled upon his forehead and tried to breathe. He gripped the loose ends of his hair and tugged. Hard. He felt the twinge of his scalp protesting the abuse but he needed it off.

 The hair had to be gone. It had to be.

Stiles stood from the swing, and ran; ignoring the shouts from other students as he pushed them out of his way and the teachers who screamed at him to return to the playground _now_ but he just had to get away.

Stiles remembers standing in front of his bathroom mirror and not really seeing himself. He remembers raising the razor to his skull and resting it against it, the metal against the hair grown into his skull. Hair that reminded Lydia of his mom, the hair that showed people he was weak and that he missed her. The hair that was going to soon go, he grown it to just past his shoulders; it was loose from the bobbin and he hated it already so much.

He sneered at his reflexion.

 He was so weak; his mom was probably disgusted with him as he never grown up. He needed to grow up. He was twelve. Boys in his class already had girlfriends and had joined serious sports teams and he was still crying over his mom who died just over two notches in the calendar. He was pathetic. He dug the razor deeper against his scalp, pressing till he felt the pain but not each flipping the button to finally shave off the last remains of her.

He just missed her so much.

He stared and just waited. Waited for the moment of realization that he didn’t need to do this, he was only grieving, that his dad supported his despair, his mom was still out there somewhere looking out for him; keeping him safe but he was met with nothing but his dull expression that glared back at him and the harsh breathing that seemed to pulse with the whole room.

Stiles tried to wait but he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t grieve no more. He had to move on. He had to live again or maybe just look like he does so his dad won’t be as engrossed in his feelings and action every morning, fluttering like a bird as his side almost as though he expected Stiles to snap at any given moment. He needed to just grow up. He sighed and with muscles that seemed to snap with tension he flipped the razor and a humming buzz filled the room. It was a warning that it was the beginning to his storm that whirled up inside him; he could feel it crashing within trying to escape but he clamped down on the scream.

He followed the fallen curl with his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. It fell floating almost swaying in the wind. And just like she did; it fell to the ground and didn’t move again. It didn’t stir or hover with the wind but just laid still. He dragged in a ragged deep breath and cut another patch through his hair.

There was no going back now.

* * *

 

Stiles remembers when his dad first noticed that his son had lost of his hair just like she did. He had just come home from another painfully dragged along day and he stopped off for a take away on the way home as he thought it would be a treat after the horrid week they had. Every week felt draining.

He missed the days of playing video games with his son as the boy threw his body with the swerving car on screen as though that would make it easier to steer but he didn’t notice how Stiles eyes were more often blood shot than not, rarely wore his favourite pyjamas anymore deeming them for babies and how he now stopped hanging out with the nice kid, Scott McCall. Stiles wasn’t a small child no more but he was still his kid. Sherriff Stilinski came in carrying the bags while quietly chatting to Stiles who sat on the coach that faced the television set and turned away from the entrance of the kitchen, all Sherriff saw was the kid’s moth eaten clothed feet hanging over the arm rest. He tried for small talk, trying to get the boy to even mumble a word rather than hums or utter silence.

Stiles seemed even quieter than usual. So he tried to get him to eat but he refused when Sherriff wandered over to him he had his still growing arms thrown across his face but nothing could stop him from noticing his son’s hair was gone. That the hair that curled and wisped around the small chin and floating in the wind was now gone; only little pickles that could hardly be called hair remained.

“Wha- what did you do?”

“It’s gone is all.” Stiles mumbled from beneath the thrown arms.

“Your hair is just gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Speak properly to me boy when I talk to you.” Sherriff’s tone got sharper. Stiles peaked from beneath the arms before sighing and sitting up to show him better his deformed hairstyle.

Sherriff couldn’t believe it. It made Stiles would so sickly even more now made his hollow eyes and dull skin more profound. The sickness almost radiating. There was tuffs of hair sticking up in places he obviously couldn’t reach, the stubbles wasn’t suiting the boy. He sat down beside him, clasping a hand on his thin shoulder and gently shook him.

“Why did you do it, bucko?”

Stiles shrugged picking at his nails, his chin almost touching his chest as he head hung low hiding his face from his father.

“Was it for mom?”

A small twitch of a head jerk.

“I miss her sometimes too kid- no actually all the time, there isn’t a moment when I don’t miss her. I can still smell her sometimes when I walk past her dresser or sheets ruffle too much getting into bed, I get the sense of the sea or dandelions that lived in our gardens a long time ago. She was great, wasn’t she?” He smiled softly down at Stiles who in turn raised his chin to show his watering eyes and wobbling lip. “Did you shave your head to honour her or were you scared you looked too much like her? Hey don’t give me that look I am your dad! I know a thing or two about you.”

Stiles giggled softly, his hands twisting his large hoodie strings.

“So you didn’t want to look like her anymore, is that it?”

“No.” Stiles breathed. “I would be honoured to look like her but I just looked like a stupid baby who can’t even get over his mom and I just look like an idiot. I can’t stand when people get all weepy in class over stupid things because I do it too. I hate it, dad. It could be over a stupid pencil and I could get all winded and I- just really hate it.”

“I know.”

“It sucks.”

“It sucks real bad.”

“When does it stop?”

“The feeling?”

“Yeah.” Stiles whispered.

“I guess it lessens with time but do you want to forget the feeling of her? It’s frightening but it’s for the best. I’ll never love a woman like I loved her and I just want you to smile again kid because she always smiled. Over every damn thing, I used to give out to her for not taking anything seriously. She was wicked, she had a serious streak for mischief when we were younger. She would get me always into trouble but she would get off scot free. I loved her for her laugh. You should laugh more Stiles, you have similar laughs but that’s not only why. You should laugh ‘cause you’re happy and you should be.” Sherriff laid a palm on the buzzed skull, slightly rubbing. Stiles leaned into his dad sniffling.

“What if I don’t want to be happy?”

“Maybe you don’t right now but maybe soon. Maybe you need something to smile about eh?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet kiddo, it’s your happiness. Tell me in a few years when you find it okay?”

“A few years? As if I’ll find it by then, it will take longer than that. I’ll be sad forever and ever.”

Sherriff smiled down at Stiles. “I don’t think you will be, you have too much spirit, buddy.”

Stiles sighed. “I think you drank too much coffee dad. A spirit in me? I’m not a ghost.”

“I should hope not or else I would have to go all Ghost Busters on your bum.” Sherriff made a badly attempt at a karate chop making Stiles giggles and swipe his own palm out. Sherriff lowered his voice real deep and hunched his shoulders as he said. “I’m the Master Commander, bow down to me!”

Stiles raised his chin, trying to contain his giggles. “Never! I’m a free spirit.” He cried.

Sherriff bugged his eyes as he snarled “Are you making fun of me, little one?”

Stiles made an offended sound and jump up to stand on the coach and raised his palms. “You dare call me ‘little one’? I’ll make you pay you ogre.”

“Ogre? _Ogre?_ You now call me ogre, that’s it-I’m coming for you!” Sherriff grabbed Stiles at his knees and brought him down to his level and proceeded to tickle him till he cried mercy. Stiles screamed and giggled and thrashed in his father’s arms till the both were laughing and sat in silence as Stiles huffed out his breaths. Sherriff stood, patting Stiles head now that he couldn’t rough up his hair.

“Come on then ‘little one’ let’s go eat.” Sherriff grinned and calmly walked away. He missed the gleam in son’s eyes who charged after him demanding a rematch.

* * *

 

Stiles remembers being friends with Scott after the smallest sign of forgiveness. Stiles sat shyly beside Scott in the playground who were horse playing with a few other boys in their class when they all stopped and stared at him. Scott shifted uncomfortably, staring at Stiles who was fiddling with his lunch bag that was in his lap. Stiles pulled out a sandwich from it and awkwardly held it out to Scott. They both stared at each other, waiting for the next move.

“Peanut butter?” Scott asked suddenly. Stiles jumped but nodded, his lips caught between his teeth. Scott seemed to study him for a moment longer and with a baited breath, he leaned over and snatched the sandwich out of his hand and dragged Stiles into a one armed hug. “You silly bugger always forget the jam! Luckily I brought mine.”

Stiles laughed and hugged him back. “I suppose I do. I guess I wouldn’t survive without you.”

Scott grinned, his teeth showing through as the sun gleamed down on them, his hair a dark hale of curls while Stiles was stubble of a rock in the shadows. “You wouldn’t survive a day. I wouldn’t either so we’re in the same boat.”

“It’s a big boat.”

“Hey you calling me fat?”

“Maybe.” Stiles said, laughing. Scott pulled him into a noggin, careful of the balanced sandwiches of his knees and rubbed his knuckles into his stubbed head.  

“Jesus, that’s like sandpaper against my skin. What did you shave your head for?”

Stiles shrugged, glancing at the other boys who seemed to forgotten Scott but still sat too close for comfort. Scott glanced behind him and seemed to understand for he turned around and grinned even brighter at him and said “Wanna join the sandwiches together? It’s my favourite part of lunch.”

Stiles’ lips twitched as he looked at Scott and said “Me too.”

“Brothers forever?” Scott asked innocently, holding out his pinkie finger. Stiles paused and stared at him, unable to believe even after it being more than a couple of months since they last played a game let alone spoke to each other and Scott had easily forgave and forgotten, with a lurch Stiles grasped his pinkie in his own then they both wrapped their index fingers around the other, skin crinkling and as one leaned forward to kiss their thumbs to finally seal the deal.

“The bestest of friends and brothers forever.” Stiles said, still linked.

“In that case, I get the first bite as I’m the oldest.” Scott said, pushing Stiles away and grabbed the sandwiches from his knees already going to smash them together. Stiles fumbled and squeaked before leaping forward to save his trusty sandwich.

They would be brothers forever, even though nothing like blood connected but who needed blood when you had love and trust? Stiles trusted Scott with his life and nothing would break that.

“So like tell me, does your head ever get really cold?” Scott asked around a mouthful of mush. Stiles laughed.

 

* * *

 

Stiles remembers hearing about the death of the Hale family, his dad and a few of the other men were having their monthly game of poker where they drank till they couldn’t see straight, ate and betted till they had no more money to lend over. Stiles usually went over to Scott’s for the night so he wouldn’t smell the smoke that drifted from Officer George or the loud swearing of Officer Karl but that night Scott’s dad finally showed up out of the blue and the family decided to have a dinner.

Scott was delighted but Stiles knew he would cry at his bedside when his dad ups and goes like he does every time but will show up again in another five months or so. Stiles was now stuck in the sitting room with his own pan of junk food and video games, he quickly grown tired of playing on his own and sat huffing to himself wondering to want to do next when he heard a loud exclaim of “Fuck!” in the next room with then a chorus of shushing. Stiles perked up and creep to door connecting the sitting room to the game room. He peaked through a gap in the door and saw his dad and co-workers all surrounded a table with a litter of chips, cards and alcohol.

The two officers sat opposed his dad. They all were leaned towards each other as they discussed whatever Officer Karl shout was about. Stiles’ dad was stage whispering at that point when Officer Karl wasn’t listening and just shaking his head.“So they’ve just gone and burnt to death?” Officer Karl said, still looking flummoxed over the news. Stiles wish he knew what they were talking about, he strained his ears closer.

“To the crisp.”

“Nobody left? There was a family of easily, Christ, eleven! And you’re saying there’re all gone? Like ash?”

“Ah no there’s three left. There’s a young girl no older than twenty, Laura and her smaller brother, Derek…ah I’d say he’s about fifteen now and there’s the uncle. The poor man is in hospital though so badly burnt he’s immobilised. A well behaved family also. Damn, God has crazy ways of showing the innocent a good fortune, eh?” Stiles’ dad shook his head.

Stiles’ mind reeled. He remembered a certain Derek with dark hair and a cut on his lip with dirty fingernails. He seen him a few times since then but the other boy acted as though he didn’t even know him, not glancing him way even though Stiles practically drilled a hole into the back of his skull. He didn’t seem to remember how much he used to do the same to Stiles and now, he’s gone and lost all his family. He knew how it felt to lose his mom; he couldn’t even imagine the pain of losing everything and everybody with her too. It struck a deep punch in his gut to think Derek had nobody but his older sister to hug anymore. Stiles couldn’t even dream of it.

“Never would think a fire would strike our town. It seems like the place where nothing is taken like a horrible spell gone wrong. Christ, I can’t get my head around it. What’s gonna happen to the kids now that the uncle is almost at his peak too?”

“I say Laura will leave this horrible place for once and for all. She’s his guardian now. She is over eighteen.”

“Grieving and now taking care of a kid too? Jesus, the poor lass.”

“I wonder how it happened.”

“A house fire happens all the time, a left on switch, a turned on hair styler. Unfortunate but happens.”

“Fuck, I still can’t get over that. The family seemed nice enough even if the father was a bulking mass of muscle and seemed to never speak, my wife played cards once or twice with the mother. Lori said she was strange but seemed kind. It’s sad to think though there were even kids in it.” Officer Harry said.

“How many do you think?”

“They had at least six kids, not including cousins that lived with them.” Stiles dad said.

“Six? Oh fuck.”

“Can you please stop swearing?”

“I think it’s an okay time to fucking swear in these shitty times of trouble.” Officer Carl said his voice grim.

“So when’s the funeral?” Officer Harry asked.

“Next week, I believe.”

“You gonna go?”

“Yeah, I say so. Pay my respects they came along when Ari, y’know.” Stiles dad said clearing his throat.

Stiles stepped back from the door, heart thumping. The reminder of his mom was still too raw, the emotion dragging across his lungs pushing out all the air in a stuttered breath. Stiles ran a hand over his head, feeling the prickles against his palm, calming him reminding him that he was still there and tried to control his shaking hands.

The next time Stiles saw Derek was at the funeral. The boy stood all long legs and gangly limbs in a too big suit and a broken wooden walking stick in his hand. It had been his grandfathers, his dark flopping on his forehead while Laura stood beside him jaw clenched and a wavering, lost expression flickering across her face. They clasped hands, his in hers. Both of their knuckles white.

The Hales were gone by the following week leaving nothing between but an empty, burned out home and a confused young boy who didn’t understand the pang in his chest when he went to the park for the first in years and noticed the empty swings.

Stiles, strangely, remembers thinking of roses.


End file.
